


Knives and Alcohol Don't Mix

by Commodore_Enigma



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, Blood and Injury, Captain Allen isn't captain yet in this fic, First Meetings, Gen, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Pre-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Scar origin story, There's a decent amount of swearing courtesy of Gavin, This is a meet-cute/meet-ugly hybrid I guess???, Wtf are titles anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-10-03 17:24:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20456678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Commodore_Enigma/pseuds/Commodore_Enigma
Summary: One night in 2033, Kenton Allen decides to go out for a drink after a long day of work. Instead of having the relaxing evening he looked forward to, he finds himself intercepting in an altercation between two drunk men.Pre-relationship, pre-game.





	Knives and Alcohol Don't Mix

12 October, 2033. 7:34 pm.  


Sergeant Kenton Allen didn’t even make it to the front door of the bar before something grabbed his attention- the sound of scuffling, crashing glass, and muffled voices in the opening to the left of the bar.  


Part of him wished it could just be a raccoon taking interest in empty bottles. He was off duty, he didn’t want to deal with drunk idiots in his highly valued free time.  


Taking in his surroundings, he advanced towards the opening, getting a visual of the source of the noise.  


He’s met with the sight of a man in a leather jacket and dark jeans struggling to stay on his feet, a bloody hand over his face. Another man a few inches taller than him, dressed in muddy jeans and a tattered sweatshirt, stumbled towards him in a clumsy attempt to swipe, knife in hand.  


The man failed, as he was too far away from the injured man to make any contact.  


He didn’t need any field sobriety tests to tell him they were both totally intoxicated.  


Taking on his most authoritative officer tone, he ordered the knife man: “Stop right there! Put the knife down!”  


The knife man either didn’t hear him or just flat out didn’t care, and he began to barrel towards the bleeding man, knife pointed at his chest.  


He couldn’t just call this in; he had to act. Now.  


Kenton sprinted at the knife man, tackling him from the side in one quick motion, the knife flying out of his hands and clattering against the gravel as the man let out a resounding “oof!”.  


Kenton maneuvered to grab both the man’s wrists, his knee pressed into his back. Though the man tried to free himself from his grip, his movements were thankfully too sluggish to accomplish much, and in comparison to the usual suspects he dealt with, it was pitifully easy to detain him.  


“... the fuck you doin’? Let me finish that asshole…” the knife man whined, his cheek pressed into the gravel, speech clearly slurred.  


“Stop resisting. You can’t just attack people like that,” Kent lectured, standing back up and pulling the knife man up so he could sit.  


He pulled out his badge and showed it to the man.  


“I had cause to intervene.”  


“Fuckin’ sneaky cops- you’re all assholes-”  


What a delight of a man, he thought to himself as he put his badge away.  


Kenton turned his attention to the bleeding man, who was leaning heavily against the wall, fingers pressed to the bridge of his nose.  


“Hey, you alright there?”  


Knife man decided to answer instead.  


“Do I look like ‘m fine, you fuckin’ tackled me and _ruined my face-_”  
__

_ _“Quiet,” Kent snapped, shooting a glare at him before looking back at the man against the wall.  
_ _

_ _Trying again, he called out, “Hey, come here. Let me see your nose. How bad is it?”  
_ _

_ _“‘S not bad. ‘M fine,” he muttered back, lowering his hand.  
_ _

_ _Like hell he was fine. There was some blood gushing, and even from several feet away Kent could see how deep the laceration went. He’d need stitches for sure.  
_ _

_ _“Don’t go anywhere. Let me get this guy taken care of, I’ll find someone to get a better look at it.”  
_ _

_ _Kenton took his phone out of his pocket, dialing 911.  
_ _

_ _“911 what’s your emergency?”  
_ _

_ _“This is Sergeant Allen, I’m off duty and I need police and EMS… I’m to the left of McCollough’s on 33rd and Kings, and currently have an intoxicated assailant detained… he slashed a man with a knife, and the victim’s currently bleeding.”  
_ _

_ _“Police should be there shortly, we have one on patrol nearby. EMS may take longer, everyone is currently on a call and none are close by.”  
_ _

_ _Well, there went his night.  
_ _

_ _“I can get the victim to a hospital by myself, it’s not life-threatening. Don’t send out EMS.”  
_ _

_ _“Okay.”  
_ _

_ _He hung up and put his phone away.  
_ _

_ _The wounded man didn’t appear bothered by the blood slowly running down his face, likely due to being drunk; but the lack of proper first aid treatment was getting on Kent’s nerves. He was in first responder mode now, no point in trying to escape it.  
_ _

_ _“Keep your hand on your nose. Try and stop the bleeding.”  
_ _

_ _The man gave him a look, but followed his command anyways.  
_ _

_ _It took around two minutes for an officer Kent didn’t recognize to show up and take charge of the assailant, loading him into the cruiser. Afterwards, she listened to Kent’s account of what happened and he directed her to the knife, still on the ground.  
_ _

_ _Their attention turned to the bleeding man, who seemed to be nodding off against the wall, still holding on to the bridge of his nose with a bloodstained hand.  
_ _

_ _“Can you tell me how this started?” the officer asked.  
_ _

_ _The man’s eyes opened, his gray eyes glazed over. He spoke in a relatively slurred voice that wasn’t as incoherent as Kent had expected.  
_ _

_ _“I was trying to watch the bar… game.. And he was being fucking annoying ranting about some political shit... the election or something... and it got on my nerves. I asked him to shut up a bunch but he wouldn’t stop talking... So I shoved him and he punched me. I punched him back and the bartender kicked us both out. And then that fucker wanted to fight me more, so he charged me and got my face with his knife.”  
_ _

_ _The officer nodded along, expression as unimpressed as Kenton felt. “I’ll go question the bartender and any patrons that may have seen it.”  
_ _

_ _She turned to Kent. “You’re free to get him to a hospital now, I don’t want to delay his medical attention any further.”  
_ _

_ _“Okay, thank you.”  
_ _

_ _The officer strode away, heading into the bar. Kent pulled out his phone and requested a self driving taxi for the second time in an hour. He walked over to the man, who was still staring off into the distance, blood running down his nose. Apparently he’d stopped caring about it again.  
_ _

_ _“What’s your name?” Kent asked, voice devoid of any prior authority.  
_ _

_ _“Why’s it matter?” he growled back, glaring at Kent. It wasn’t very effective given how unfocused his eyes were.  
_ _

_ _Goddamn drunks. Kent was glad he rarely dealt with patrol duties anymore and having to see people in such a state. He didn’t miss having to deal with the aftermath of bar brawls, or individuals who repeatedly failed to understand the phrase “drink responsibly”.  
_ _

_ _The gaping nose laceration started to bother him yet again. It needed pressure kept on it _consistently_. Given he didn’t have his usual first aid equipment with him, he’d just have to improvise.  
___ _

_ _ _He pulled off the dark green scarf wrapped around his neck and folded it up, pressing it to the man’s wound along the bridge of his nose.  
_ _ _

_ _ _“Hey, what the-”  
_ _ _

_ _ _“If you don’t keep pressure on it, it’ll keep bleeding.”  
_ _ _

_ _ _“I don’t want your fucking disgusting scarf-”  
_ _ _

_ _ _“Oh quit it. It’s clean. And I never said your name mattered. Whoever you are, you’re coming with me to the hospital.”  
_ _ _

_ _ _“Fuck off, I can walk there myself, ‘m fine-!” he complained, pushing himself off the wall and away from the scarf. The man stumbled forward, almost tripping over his own feet.  
_ _ _

_ _ _“You clearly aren’t,” Kent grabbed his arm and pulled the man in front of him, holding on to him. He checked his phone yet again. The taxi was a few minutes away. Kent put the phone away and pressed the scarf to the man’s bleeding nose again with his free hand.  
_ _ _

_ _ _This time around, the man was quieter over his wound being looked after, glancing at Kent’s face for a moment before staring off into the distance.  
_ _ _

_ _ _Kent stared at him, trying to find any other injuries from the confrontation. He noticed an additional bloody spot, nearly at the man’s right tear duct. Another, shorter laceration.  
_ _ _

_ _ _“Jesus, he almost got your eye; you got lucky,” he commented.  
_ _ _

_ _ _“Fuckin’ bastard.”  
_ _ _

_ _ _“Mhm.”  
_ _ _

_ _ _He lifted the scarf and moved it to cover the laceration, gently pressing a finger over it so the fabric could absorb the worst of the bleeding.  
_ _ _

_ _ _The man winced a bit at that, but said nothing.  
_ _ _

_ _ _“Sorry,” Kent muttered.  
_ _ _

_ _ _They continued to wait in silence until the taxi arrived; then Kent wrapped an arm around the man’s back to support him as they walked up to the vehicle, keeping the scarf over the man’s nose.  
_ _ _

_ _ _The taxi ride to the hospital, which was approximately 19 minutes away from their location, started off just as quiet.  
_ _ _

_ _ _A few minutes in, Kent removed the scarf, and held it out to him, “Keep pressure on it. You’re coordinated enough.”  
_ _ _

_ _ _He scowled at Kent but sluggishly snatched up the scarf anyways, pressing it back over his nose.  
_ _ _

_ _ _The silence continued; Kent stared out the window at the passing buildings and streets while the man kept the scarf pressed to his nose.  
_ _ _

_ _ _After a while, the man stated in a barely noticeable tone, “Reed.”  
_ _ _

_ _ _“What?” Kent turned his attention once more to the man beside him, who quickly looked away, swaying a bit with the motion; and stared out the window on his side.  
_ _ _

_ _ _“M’ name’s Gavin Reed.”  
_ _ _

_ _ _Gavin Reed. That name sounded familiar somehow.  
_ _ _

_ _ _Kent took another look at the man sitting next to him, noting the stubble on his chin and his ragged haircut.  
_ _ _

_ _ _“Reed... I’ve seen you around… you work at the Central station, don’t you?”  
_ _ _

_ _ _“Yeah.”  
_ _ _

_ _ _“Huh. So I don’t need to do the whole ‘you need to be more careful with your alcohol use in public’ lecture? You’re an officer. You should know these things too. What if he got ahold of your firearm?”  
_ _ _

_ _ _Reed shot another attempt at a glare, “Don’t fuckin’ lecture me on shit. You’re not my sergeant.”  
_ _ _

_ _ _“I’m still a sergeant nonetheless, even though I’m not based at the Central station anymore. You and I both know we shouldn’t get up to delinquency like that.”  
_ _ _

_ _ _“That fucker was the one with the knife! He attacked me first!” Reed snarled defensively, gesturing with the hand holding the scarf.  
_ _ _

_ _ _Kent took Reed’s hand for a brief second, pressing the hand and scarf back to the bridge of his nose before letting go.  
_ _ _

_ _ _He almost wanted to tell Reed he should have walked away once the man was too annoying, but that would have been too hypocritical. Kent would have shoved him away too. Or at least thrown some highly unfavorable words his way.  
_ _ _

_ _ _“Just, watch your alcohol consumption, okay?”_ _ _

_ _ __ _ _

Kenton helped him into the hospital when they arrived, explaining what happened to the nurse as they took Reed in for treatment.  


Though he didn’t exactly know Reed, he figured it would be best to stay in the waiting room and await how everything went. He’d tackled some knife wielding drunk to save him, after all. Who knew what would have happened next.

12 October, 2033. 10:13 pm.  


He’d mentally spaced out after draining a majority of his phone’s battery browsing with no purpose, when the nurse walked into the waiting room once more, stopping in front of him.  


“Mr. Allen?”  


How strange it was not hearing his rank. He looked up at them.  


They listed off the information in a practiced, monotonous voice: “Mr. Reed’s procedure went well. He has a lot of stitches over the laceration, but he is expected to make a full recovery and should not need to miss any work. You’re free to go. He is still somewhat intoxicated, so he’ll be kept here until he sobers up a little more and can go home on his own.”  


“Okay... I’ll stay out of the way,” he responded, getting up to leave as the android walked back towards the treatment rooms.  


As he walked out of the hospital, requesting yet another self-driving taxi, he reflected on the evening. As irritated as he was over people’s misuse of alcohol, at least he could go home with a clear conscience. He’d saved some beat cop from getting stabbed by the wrong man to provoke.

\---

21 October, 2033. 1:34 pm.  


The meeting at the Central station had gone well; a run-of-the-mill debriefing following another successful arrest of a Red Ice dealer.  


Kenton waited for his superior to wrap up a conversation, sitting quietly in the break room with his arms crossed.  


He glanced over to the entrance when he saw someone approach the open room. To his surprise, it was Reed, dressed in his patrol uniform.  


When Reed noticed him, he froze in place. He looked far more alert than that night, taking in the sight of Kenton with something of surprise. His wound was covered with numerous stitches.  


“Oh. It’s you,” he stated, eyeing Kent with caution. “You gonna lecture me again now that I’m sober?”  


“No. How’s your nose?”  


Reed started to raise his fingers to it as if on cue, but caught himself and dropped his hand back to his side.  


“It’s...better. Uncomfortable as hell.”  


There was a pause. Kent considered going out of the break room to find the Captain. How long could he take? They had to return to their own headquarters at some point-  


The sound of a throat clearing caught Kent’s attention.  


“That was... quite the tackle,” Reed commented.  


He raised an eyebrow. “You saw that? I thought you were too occupied holding your nose together to witness it. Also you were pretty intoxicated.”  


Reed scowled at him, though any menace in the expression was quickly diluted by the way he flinched slightly, having irritated his nose with the motion. “Oh c’mon, I wasn’t that drunk. And I heard the way you knocked the breath out of that bastard. He towered over both of us, you must’ve barreled at him pretty hard.”  


“He was as drunk as you were, if not more. He was bound to topple over at some point. I just helped him along is all,” Kent replied with a shrug.  


Reed smirked at that.  


“That you did.”  


Allen saw his Captain walk by outside of the break room. Time to leave.  


“Well, good luck with your nose,” he stated with a nod, getting out of his seat and beginning to walk past Reed.  


“If you-uh- want your scarf back, I don’t have it with me.”  


Kent stopped under the threshold.  


Oh yeah. The scarf. Kent had only remembered it on his way back to his apartment that night, and up until now it had been forgotten. It may have been a gift from his sister countless years prior, but it was seldom used, and he wouldn’t mourn its loss.  


He looked back at Reed.  


“You can keep it.”  


With that, he left the break room.

**Author's Note:**

> I am stuck in rare pair hell, and it's equal parts agonizing and enjoyable. I have so many thoughts and headcanons stacking up for these two.  
I do have more stuff planned for this ship; since this was the first piece I had done and it was chronologically the farthest back (given it's their first real meeting and all), it's getting posted first. It'll likely be added to a series eventually.
> 
> Thank you for reading, and if there are any notable errors or discrepancies in my writing please let me know!


End file.
